


The Lost King

by AfricanDaisy



Series: The Iathrim Chronicles [15]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Backstory, Children, Discipline, Exploring, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Playtime, Prophecy, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 02:15:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11796330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfricanDaisy/pseuds/AfricanDaisy
Summary: In a woodland realm, four elflings go exploring. Their adventure leads them somewhere unexpected.





	The Lost King

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: It's been a long time since this series was updated, which in part is due to real life and in part because I got so hung up on and so stressed out by trying to post everything in chronological order that I lost interest in keeping it going. I am trying to be more relaxed about that, so I apologise in advance for any time travelling that takes place whenever I post something new!
> 
> I realise that this story may not make a lot of sense to anyone that hasn't had the opportunity to read our full backstory of Oropher and Thranduil. We have it so that Thranduil is born in Lindon in the middle of the Second Age, and Oropher leads the Sindar to Greenwood after experiencing rising tensions with some of the Noldor. We have him settling in Greenwood with his family and friends, and being chosen to rule the forest by the people and the trees of Greenwood. I hope to post the stories surrounding that at a later time.

“Look! A path made of stone!”

“Let’s follow it!”

“Um...maybe we shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because what if we get in trouble?”

The voice of reason came from Veassen Taldurion, anxiously twisting the hem of his dark brown tunic as his friends sighed and exchanged significant glances. Three months had passed since the arrival of Lord Oropher and his people in Greenwood. They had recovered from the trials of their journey from Lindon, settling into quaint cottages with thatched roofs – so very different from their houses of stone and brick in their former home – and taking on work, starting lessons, making friends; and, of course, exploring. There was much to explore. Where the Sindar had been accustomed to marble fountains and grand parks, now on their doorsteps were rushing waterfalls and meadows of wildflowers. Ancient trees towered above them everywhere they looked, instead of great stone buildings many storeys high. For those of them old enough to remember, it brought them peace. It was like Doriath, but greener, greater, and full of hope.

The newcomers to the forest had spent many a day exploring every inch of their new surroundings, but now one particular trio of elflings had decided it was time to look further afield. Linwë Carandirion, Fileg Halmirion, and Thranduil Oropherion, were all in agreement that there was nothing else to explore in the vicinity of the Amon Lanc settlement. They knew every nook and cranny of each other’s cottages, they had run around the marketplace more times than they could count, and they had even gone on a picnic to the nearby Caldron Pool with its thundering falls. Now with their shy, sensible friend in tow, they had ranged further from home than their previous rambles had taken them – and further than their families would have liked, too, even though they had convinced themselves that it really wasn’t all that bad because the four of them were together. It would have been different if they were alone, or in pairs; a larger group was less likely to find trouble. Master Taldur had said so, and Veassen’s father knew almost everything. (Thranduil was sure that only Oropher knew _absolutely_ everything.)

The elflings had been running beneath the trees, clambering over rocks and logs, kicking up leaves that were only just turning red and gold with the approach of autumn, when the path that they had followed from the settlement had started to gently slope upwards; so gently, in fact, that it had taken them a while to realise that they were ascending. Soon the woodland path had become road, and as they had stopped to examine the smooth stone, Linwë had knowledgably announced that it would have come from Elder Serellon’s quarry. Their explorations had taken them to that quarry on two occasions. The second time had been only to look, and they had been accompanied by a number of grownups _and_ stern instructions not to wander off – which, remarkably, they all had obeyed. The first time…well, the less said about that, the better.

Guarded on both sides by lines of trees, the winding road was wide enough for carriages and wagons to easily pass each other, or for six riders on horseback to comfortably travel side by side. It wasn’t the only road in Greenwood, but it _was_ the only one the elflings knew of that reminded them of the roads in Lindon. All of the other roads that they had walked in the forest were of hard packed dirt, whilst the paths tended to be littered with leaves and other woodland debris. So, they had decided that this road must lead to somewhere important and special. It was Fileg who made that proclamation, and Thranduil smiled and nodded happily, his eyes alight at the prospect of adventure.

“But if we get in trouble,” Veassen began.

“Your ada said that if there’s more of us, we won’t get in trouble,” Fileg said reasonably. “There are four of us. That’s a lot.”

“I don’t think Ada meant that. I think he meant it’s _safer_ for there to be more of us,” Veassen replied, sounding unhappy. “We’re far away from our houses.”

The eldest of the group interjected with a firm shake of his head. “Not too far.” Linwë had already set off, leaving the younger boys behind him. “I bet we can see our houses from the top of the hill!” he called over his shoulder. “We’ll just go and see what’s there, and then we can go home. Nobody said we couldn’t be here. And if you don’t want to look, you can go back to the settlement.”

“But I can’t!” Veassen protested. “I’m not allowed to go by myself!”

“So just come with us then,” Thranduil implored, grabbing his friend’s hand and smiling charmingly at him. “It’s an adventure. Don’t you like adventures, Vea?”

Veassen sniffed. “No.”

Despite that, it was all four elflings who followed the road, slowly but surely getting higher and higher as it snaked up over the hill. It evened out at the top, and when they finally reached the crest, not one of the boys turned to look at the view behind them; it was what stood in front of them that held their gazes. Up ahead was a white stone wall, taller than their own fathers, and in the centre was set a pair of even taller double gates adorned with gilded leaves and vines that wound around the silver bars. The ornate gates were thrown wide open, an invitation to any curious elfling, no matter how concerned he might be that he and his friends were misbehaving.

Beyond the gates was a beautiful courtyard, with a marble fountain bubbling serenely at its most central point. Long swathes of grass that ran parallel to each other on either side of the fountain were planted with cherry blossom trees, and little flowers set around the edges of the greenswards nodded their white and silver heads in the early autumn breeze. “My house could fit in here fifty times,” Veassen whispered, his nerves momentarily forgotten as he gazed at the gorgeous tableau set out before him.

“Look at that house over there,” Fileg breathed. He pointed to the far end of the courtyard where, directly in front of them, stood a grand mansion looking out over the forest that stretched for miles and miles in every direction. There were balconies set at intervals around each of the two upper storeys, and high windows, some of which were thrown open so that the elflings glimpsed the flutter of diaphanous curtains inside. Gleaming turrets graced the very top of the mansion, all elegant lines and angles. “That’s the biggest house I ever saw,” Fileg added incredulously.

“It’s not a house,” Thranduil said slowly, his eyes fixed on it. “It’s a palace, because it’s as big as Aran Gil-galad’s house in Lindon and that was a palace.”

None of the children argued with that, not even Linwë who usually had to have the final word because he was the eldest and thought he knew best. Thranduil was the only one of them who had ever visited a royal residence before. He had to know what he was talking about. Together, the four of them ran the rest of the way across the courtyard and up the white steps to the palace, but Veassen started to lag behind as he realised that his friends intended to try and get inside. Worrying that it wasn’t their house and they didn’t have permission to enter, he pointed out the lovely gardens that surrounded the palace, and what looked like stables and animal houses along one side of it. Thranduil tilted his head at the prospect of meeting some animals, but beyond that, none of the elflings took any notice; they were too interested in getting the large double doors open.

The entrance hall was so vast that the elflings had to tilt their heads all the way back to see the glass ceiling up above. Natural light poured in from on high, sunlight reflecting off the gleaming marble floor. Whilst Veassen lingered by the doors, between two plinths that held purple orchids in glass vases, Linwë and Thranduil wandered around and tried to take everything in. Running off from the entrance hall to left and right were wide corridors that led to as yet undiscovered rooms, and at the back of it was a split staircase that curved around and met in the middle at a higher floor. Fileg had discovered a statue of a stag, frozen in motion as it leaped through the air, and he eyed it as if he was afraid it might come to life at any moment.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Veassen attempted nervously. “This is someone’s house.”

“It’s a palace,” Thranduil said patiently. “You’d have to be a king to live here, and Ada told me there isn’t a king in Greenwood.”

“What’s a king’s house doing here if there’s no king?” Linwë mused aloud. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Thranduil opened his mouth, but he hesitated as he realised that he didn’t have an answer to that. He frowned, searching through his limited knowledge of royalty, and after a few moments of thought he nodded decisively. “Maybe there is a king, but he went away or something and they’re waiting for him to come back.” The elfling’s silver-blue eyes suddenly lit up. “We should go and look for him, and bring him back. If he’s lost, he has to be found.”

“Let’s look around his house for clues!” Fileg piped up.

“I bet we could find lots of clues. He wouldn’t have just gone away without telling someone. That’s naughty,” Linwë said idly. He sputtered as Veassen rounded on him, nut-brown eyes full of accusation. “What? It’s not like _we_ went away, Vea. We told everyone that we were going exploring, and they said we could go. We know how to get back home, but the king _disappeared_.”

“It’s nothing to do with us,” Veassen retorted, glowering at his older friend. “And when your big brother finds out you went so far away without a grownup – and he will find out – he’ll smack you ever such a lot. And, Thranduil, your ada will smack you even more because he’s Lord Oropher and _everyone_ knows that lords smack the most.”

Uneasy looks passed between Linwë and Thranduil, while Fileg squirmed. “Uncle Oropher wouldn’t smack me, would he?”

“No. Your ada will smack you.” Veassen paused. “Hard.”

“We’re not going to be smacked, none of us,” Linwë decided, his piping voice strong with determination. “It’s not dark here and there’s no holes to fall down or rocks to cut ourselves on. It’s just an empty house with no king in it. We need to find him. And when we do, everyone will be so pleased with us and they’ll say how good we were for bringing him home so that he can do all the king things he has to do. Since he’s lost, don’t you think he’d like to be found, Veassen?”

“There will be a King here one day, elflings.”

“And a Queen at his side.”

The boys spun around, and four pairs of eyes widened as they fell upon two ellith, each one walking serenely down either side of the split staircase. The elleth to the left was tall and willowy, with eyes like bluebells and waist length silver hair that shimmered with every step she took. Her features were delicate and gentle, her lovely face compassionate and kind. She wore a sleeveless gown of lilac brocade, the skirt lined with silver, and her pale shoulders were covered with a colour shifting silver and gold shawl that looped over her elbows. Her companion, on the stairs that came down from the right, was a foot shorter with golden curls strung through with pale blue thread and beads to match her eyes. Her cotton dress of sky blue was unadorned save for a woven belt at her waist. Bracelets clicked against each other on her wrists, and a pretty braided rope necklace hung around her neck. She was smiling, apparently unconcerned by the small intruders staring up at her.

“I am Elder Nithaniel,” the silver haired elleth introduced herself, folding her hands at her waist as she came to a stop at the foot of the stairs. “How very appropriate that it is I who should find you four boys here. I concern myself with the safety and welfare of the younglings of the forest – and I am very concerned by the thought of four elflings so far from home.”

“She looks after the elflings, yes, but she mustn’t forget that some of our esteemed colleagues insist on naming _her_ ‘elfling’ still,” the shorter elleth commented, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Yes, thank you ever so, Eilian,” Nithaniel replied dryly, unfolding her hands to lightly flick the end of her shawl at her companion. “This is Elder Eilianthel. She is a patron of the arts, and you will find her being called ‘elfling’ far more often than you will find me being called such a thing.”

“How can you be both old and an elfling?” Thranduil whispered to his friends.

Both the ellith heard that. Nithaniel’s laugh was like wind chimes stirring in a gentle breeze, and Eilianthel’s was sweet and girlish. “Let me guess. You must be Thranduil, son of Lord Oropher and Lady Felith,” Nithaniel said, making the elfling’s blue eyes widen. “I expect the golden haired boy standing next to you is your cousin Fileg, son of Halmir and Emlineth, younger brother of Thoroniel and twin to Aiwen.”

“What,” Fileg breathed incredulously. “How…?”

Nithaniel just smiled calmly and moved her gaze to Linwë, who was regarding her as warily as a cat afraid of losing its plaything. “And you…Linwë, son of Carandir and Tariel, brother of Calithil and Ruissiel.” Her eyes flickered, briefly darkening with sympathy, before moving on to the one elfling she had yet to identify. “Veassen, son of Taldur and Vendethiel, brother of Fainauriel and Edhilwen. Have I guessed correctly?”

A quartet of startled gasps and round eyes answered the elleth’s question. “Are…are you magic?” Thranduil ventured, sounding both hopeful and afraid.

The smile was back on Nithaniel’s face as she shook her head, but it faded moments later. Folding her arms, she studied the elflings thoughtfully while Eilianthel watched them squirm and shift with a faint grin. They had all quailed before far fiercer gazes than Nithaniel’s, but still; they had been caught, they were in trouble, and they knew it. “So,” Nithaniel said eventually, “you were looking for the King, were you?”

“So that he wouldn’t be lost, my lady Elder,” Fileg politely explained.

“But he is not lost.” Nithaniel paused just long enough to let the children exchange puzzled glances as they tried to make sense of how their imagined king was not lost if he was nowhere to be found. “You four,” she continued, giving them no more than a moment to consider it, “are not supposed to be here. You are far from home, are you not? Certainly you have come too far to be alone without anyone looking after you.”

Linwë stepped forward with a toss of his burgundy hair, his arms folded tightly as he glared up at the two ellith. “Well, you’re looking after us now, aren’t you, so it doesn’t matter. But even before you found us, we didn’t break anything and we didn’t get hurt. We found our way here all by ourselves, and we can find our way home again, thank you very much.”

“We’ll go straight home,” Veassen added anxiously. “We promise.”

“I should think so,” Eilianthel said, and she stepped forward with both hands outstretched. “Elder Nithaniel and I shall accompany you home.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so, Linwë,” the elleth replied calmly, as Fileg and Veassen slipped their hands into hers.

“But why?”

“What Elder Eilianthel is thinking, but what she is being good enough to avoid saying so as to spare your blushes, is that we shall accompany you home mostly to ensure your wellbeing and safety, but also so that your parents know to smack your bottoms when they get you inside.” Nithaniel smiled serenely as dismay spread across the four small faces in front of her. “Hands now, Linwë, Thranduil.”

It was four reluctant elflings that the Elders led on either side of them as they glided to the doors of the palace and out into the sunshine. They left the palace behind them and Thranduil bit his lip, glancing anxiously between his friends. “It wasn’t Veassen’s fault,” he said then, only somewhat hesitantly. “He didn’t want to follow the road. We…we all wanted to, and he didn’t. But he didn’t want to go home by himself because he knew it’s not allowed to be alone and-

“And we didn’t want to go home at all,” Linwë interrupted.

“So he had to come with us because he didn’t have a choice, so it’s not really his fault,” Fileg finished.

“I shall make certain that Master Taldur and Mistress Vendethiel are aware of that,” Nithaniel assured the boys, with a sympathetic glance for the downcast Veassen. “But I am afraid all four of you will be sorry elflings before this day is over.”

Elder Nithaniel was not in the habit of guessing wrong, and she didn’t fail on that unhappy prediction either. The four friends were indeed sorry elflings before the day was done. The only one of them to escape without having his bottom warmed was Veassen; a firm scolding from his father was enough to make him burst into tears, and Taldur recognised that nothing more was needed to teach the sensitive elfling a lesson. Fileg was delivered to his grandfather in the absence of his parents, and Dagorion gave him enough of a spanking to make him squirm before putting him to bed to wait for Halmir and Emlineth to get home. It was a lecture and a sound smacking for Linwë from his frustrated older brother, whilst Oropher decided to forego the lecture and skip straight to punishing his errant elfling.

When it was over, and Thranduil had calmed enough to listen, his father tilted his chin up and looked down into tear-washed blue eyes. “If you had thought to ask me if you could go exploring further away, I would have said yes. I’d have gone with you, or Nana would have. Either way, as long as you were supervised properly, it would have been well and this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Sorry,” Thranduil whispered miserably.

“You know to ask permission next time, don’t you,” Oropher said.

“I knew to ask this time,” the elfling admitted, sniffling. “But I didn’t.”

Oropher gave the little boy standing in front of him a long look, before nodding in acceptance of that confession. “Well, I don’t expect there to be a next time, but if there is and you don’t ask, it will be the ruler for you. Just a fair warning, laes-nín.” He picked his son up then, and after drying Thranduil’s tears, settled back into the armchair with his arm curled around the elfling. “Tell me about your adventure. What did you think of the…palace?”

“It was so big,” Thranduil said softly, wriggling until he got comfortable. “A king lives there.”

“Is that so?” Oropher asked curiously. “I did not think Greenwood had a king.”

“There is a king but he’s lost,” Thranduil clarified. “And, well, we were going to find him and bring him back, but then we got caught.”

“Why is he lost?”

“Because if he wasn’t lost he’d be at home in his house,” Thranduil replied sensibly.

Oropher laughed softly and gave his small son a cuddle. “Ah. How silly of me. Well, perhaps one day Nana and I can take you to have a look at the palace and we’ll see if we can help you find the King.”

“I’d like that. But, I was thinking…” Thranduil paused, nibbling on his lower lip as he mulled something over. His father patiently watched him until he had thought it through and decided that he needed some help. “Ada, would the King be punished for going off on his own?”

“If he was an elfling, yes, I suppose he might,” Oropher nodded.

“What if he’s not an elfling? Because, he would have guards like Aran Gil-galad did in Lindon, and I think his guards might be cross if he just disappeared,” Thranduil reasoned. “Maybe he went away because he didn’t like being followed by guards all the time. He’d have to be clever to escape them though. Don’t you think? I wouldn’t like to have guards, even if I suppose they might stop me from doing silly things. I’d want to be by myself sometimes else how would I be able to think about things or keep secrets or play with my friends?”

“I think,” Oropher said fondly, “that it’s not something for you to be worrying about, so don’t dwell overmuch on it.”

Thranduil nodded, accepting that his father knew best and pushing it from his mind. Oropher often did know best, but even he couldn’t predict that his family’s world would be turned upside down before the year was out. None of them could guess that the palace on the hill had been built for them, that their coming and their ruling had been prophesied centuries back. They could not know that Crown Prince Thranduil would have to slip away from the armed warriors who would form part of his elite guard if he wished to be alone. And of course, neither Oropher nor his small son could imagine that they would both wear the crown of Greenwood the Great, and each become powerful Kings. No, they could not predict any of those things – things that are for another story, to be told another day.


End file.
